


stoned in paradise

by pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Kitchen Sex, Marijuana, Moving In Together, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3672021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallisons/pseuds/pr1nc3ssp34ch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia gets to her knees, wobbles precariously, then stands, her werecoyote athleticism working to her advantage. Even high, she still has great balance. Her legs also look amazing. Stiles has never been more appreciative of her ass. And he spends a <i>lot</i> of time appreciating her ass.</p><p>"Your ass is awesome," he says. High Stiles has no defense mechanisms, apparently, and says whatever he feels. </p><p>Malia ignores him entirely in her search for hot dogs. That's probably fair of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stoned in paradise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turnpikedarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnpikedarling/gifts).



> This is for [Kat](http://mickeyed.tumblr.com) as a bonus gift for TWRPE. I tried to put as many of what was on your sheet into this as possible because I still wax poetic about the fic you wrote me last exchange and I can't live up to it at all. But I love you a lot. [heart emoji]
> 
> The title is from Milky Chance's "Stolen Dance" which I referred to for most of my time listening to it as, "The song where the guy sounds super unenthusiastic unless it's in the chorus where he talks about boogie and weed."

The first time Malia breathes smoke into his mouth, Stiles almost hacks up his liver. He's pretty sure that happened, once, to a dude. It was probably on 1000 ways to die. 

 

"Are you okay? Should I screw on the smoke alarm again?"

 

Stiles rasps, coughs again, then answers. "That wouldn't actually turn it on. I took out the battery. It's fine. I'm fine."

 

He'd never point it out, because Malia hates to be confused, but her confused eyebrow furrow is one of his favorite Malia expressions. It's right up there on the list with the faces she makes when he eats her out and her face when she realized they were getting their own bed, a bed that only smelled like them, for their new apartment. It might be a tiny shit hole, but it's  _their_ tiny shit hole now. The whole thing smells like other people, but Malia's pretty confident that they'll fuck on every inch of it soon enough. Her face when she thought about Scott and Kira coming over after  _that_ is in his top ten, too.

 

"Did I fuck that up?" she asks, thumping his back. She forgets her strength, but Stiles kind of likes it that way, because it means she isn't thinking about what she's doing when she's with him. She's okay with just being herself. Even if herself could probably drop a car on his head. 

 

Stiles takes the joint and kisses her instead, licking the sweet-bitter taste of smoke from her mouth. "You did good, I have a weak constitution. Let's try again." 

 

This time it isn't so bad, either because it's from the source or because he knows what to expect, now. He hasn't smoked since his freshman year in college, when he and Scott shared a shitty dorm room. His memory is obviously lacking. "Are you sure this is sexy?" Malia asks. She's been pretty skeptical, but Stiles has kinda wanted to try it since he saw it at their graduation party. "Smoke tastes nasty anyway."

 

"Derek promised this would actually work on you, so we're doing it." He flashes a grin. "Seeing you high is good enough." What he wants to say is,  _you're always sexy,_  but he isn't as free with that kind of thing as her. 

 

Now that he has an actual hit under his belt, he's feeling loose and ready. "You ready?" 

 

"Always," Malia replies, smiling wide. She closes her eyes and opens her mouth, waiting. Stiles tries and fails to stop his dick from twitching. 

 

He inhales, trying to hold it in as much as possible while he leans towards her. Malia breathes in as he breathes out, and this time, neither of them cough. Instead, she bites his lower lip and laughs, an almost giggly sound he's never heard before. 

 

"Did you swallow a smurf?" he asks, because he is an asshole and now he's a  _less inhibited_ asshole.

 

"You coughed like a bitch," Malia wheezes. "You can't talk shit for at least... an hour." Malia's discovery of swearing is possibly the best or worst thing that's ever happened to him. Right now it seems like the worst.

 

"I will hoard this. I will smoke all of it." It's an empty bluff; it's way too strong, he'd never finish it. It hasn't even kicked in all the way, not even close, and he feels like he's dying.

 

They try it a few more times (Stiles has tiny coughs that shouldn't even really count and Malia finds them unduly hilarious), and then finish the joint between them, their fingers brushing every time they pass it back and forth. They're practically sitting on top of each other, since the couch is still up against the wall and sitting on the floor is only nice when you aren't doing it alone. At some point, everything starts to feel warm and lazy, though he can't quite recall why.

 

"Do we have hot dogs?" Malia asks after what was either five minutes or two hours of comfortable silence. Stiles thinks about that.

 

"No," he decides. "We didn't get groceries. We just have whatever we had in our dorms."

 

Malia gets to her knees, wobbles precariously, then stands, her werecoyote athleticism working to her advantage. Even high, she still has great balance. Her legs also look amazing. Stiles has never been more appreciative of her ass. And he spends a  _lot_ of time appreciating her ass.

 

"Your ass is awesome," he says, because high Stiles has no defense mechanisms, apparently, and says whatever he feels.

 

Malia ignores him entirely in her search for hot dogs. That's probably fair of her.

 

She looks in the cupboards first, which looks like a bad idea, and Stiles struggles to his feet to help. It's only fair. He wants hot dogs too. He doesn't think there  _are_ hot dogs, but he wants them. They can figure out the bun problem later.

 

The fridge looks amazingly empty. It's clean and white and has three things in it, none of which are hot dogs. It's hard to contain the disappointment. The kitchen is small enough that when Malia bends to open one of the drawers, her ass is against his thigh. Stiles distracts himself from his sadness a moment by putting his cold fingers on the small of her back to make her jump.

 

"We have mustard," Malia says with a glare, tossing it towards Stiles. In his impaired state, he stands pretty much no chance of catching it. At least he doesn't bat it back at her head.

 

"No hot dogs," he reminds her, with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Mustard is only good on hot dogs." She was right, hot dogs do sound really good. Maybe they should move in with Derek. He always has his kitchen stocked.

 

"Mustard is good on..." Malia trails off. She likes to be argumentative, but mustard is actually only good on hot dogs, so she has nowhere to go. To distract her from the failure, Stiles bends to kiss her, trapping her hair between his fingertips. Everything kind of tastes like weed smoke now, but Malia is warm and soft, and she responds after a moment, relaxing into him. 

 

"We can make mac and cheese," he promises. 

 

"Hot dogs are really good in mac and cheese," Malia reminds him, and they both share a forlorn moment. Hot dogs would've been so good. "Do we have milk?"

 

"We have butter," Stiles says with conviction. "And water. It'll work."

 

"Our first home dinner. Crusty no-milk mac and cheese."

 

Stiles laughs for what feels like a year. He loves Malia so much. She's the funniest person he knows. Scott can't even compete, and he's pretty funny. His puns are absolutely horrible and knock off too many points. 

 

They put the water on to boil, which is one of the few things Malia has mastered in the kitchen. She can't cook at all and mostly advocates for raw food diets, but she can do things with water. That's a safe bet. 

 

"You're sweaty," Malia points out as the burner starts to turn red. 

 

Stiles is pretty sure there isn't a good retort to that, but he chokes on his shitty retort when she licks the divot at his collar bone. "You taste more like you. And like weed." 

 

He doesn't remember putting his hand on her waist, but her skin is silk over muscle against his palm. "What do I taste like?" He's asked what he smells like a thousand times, and gotten a variety of answers. Scott says he smells like home and Malia, which is to be expected. Derek says he smells like annoying teenager, which is even more predictable. Malia thinks he smells like he would be good to eat, but he might bite back, so it's not a safe bet. She's never talked about his skin tasting like anything.

 

"Salt and sex and ozone," Malia describes, which is poetic, especially since she's high as fuck. She pulls his head down, sucking on his neck without warning until he yelps embarrassingly. "Right now it's mostly sex."

 

"No shit," he wheezes. He has a hickey thing. Malia's possessive thing rivals _his_  possessive thing. "Are we gonna make out?"

 

Malia kisses his jaw. "You better." 

 

That's definitely a cue even High Stiles can understand. He pulls Malia towards the door and away from the stove, kissing her against the counter. He's never been able to do this before -- in high school, his dad lived there, and in college, they didn't have their own kitchen. In the movies it looks awesome, and it kind of is, even though the stove heats up the whole room. 

 

Kissing while high is really good. They fit together, Stiles' knee sliding between her thighs as he swallows down the noise she makes. Malia tends to get off fast and get off  _a lot,_ so he isn't surprised when she twists her hips, trying to grind without rubbing the sharp edge of the counter against her ass. Stiles, in a moment he's been waiting for since he was a pre-teen, slides his hands under her thighs and lifts her onto the counter. 

 

Malia blinks down at him, smiling slowly. In this position, Stiles is eye level with her chest, which to him seems like the best position. When Malia takes her shirt off and he remembers she wasn't wearing a bra, he decides it's definitely the best.

 

She bends to kiss him and the laziness from the weed turns to some kind of hunger he can't even describe. Her hair brushes across his cheeks and his neck, soft and ticklish, and he brushes it away, his mouth sliding wetly towards her jaw. He kisses the place by her ear where her jawbone hinges, because it's sensitive and makes her laugh, then moves down, alternating between kissing, biting, and sliding because he can't get down to her nipple fast enough. 

 

Stiles isn't a boob guy so much as he's a  _everything about his partner's body_ guy. He loves the way Malia digs her nails into his shoulders when he swirls his tongue around her nipple, loves her hands twisting in his hair as he bites at the underside of her breast. He hears her head thump when it hits the cabinet behind her, but she moans, too, and Stiles has to stop himself from fist pumping because she's too distracted to care. 

 

He dips his tongue between her breasts and slides down, pulling on her shorts with his teeth. "Off."

 

"Off," Malia agrees, sliding her hands down to unbutton them. She lifts her body for him to slide them down, and Stiles slides with them, his knees hitting the floor with her shorts and underwear. Malia slides down off the counter, because it's too high for him to get his mouth on her, and he grabs at her thighs, pulling her closer. He's never eaten her out standing up, not outside of the shower, anyway. Her legs shake a little when he squeezes, but he knows she likes the feeling of the fading bruises, so he keeps going. Sometimes he wants them to stay, wants to see his hands against her thighs and on her waist, wants to watch people notice all the places his mouth's been. "You're always sexy," he admits, finally, because it's been on the tip of his tongue for like an hour now. Then, because he can't wait any longer, he spreads her with his fingers and wraps his tongue around her clit.

 

Malia makes a surprised little sound and wobbles, her hands fisting in his shirt. He's pretty sure they've never had sex like this, her naked and him in his clothes, but it gives her more to hold onto. Better purchase to anchor herself. He slides down to push his tongue inside her, just to build her up -- she won't come like this, but she'll get close. Already her knees are trembling against his chest, her breathing loud and heavy. Stiles slides his free hand to the back of her thigh to keep her steady, but it doesn't really work. He's too stoned to have a firm grip. Instead, he slides the useless hand up, feeling his way toward her chest again.

 

"Stiles," she gasps as he thumbs her nipple, curling his tongue upwards inside her. He's glad his arms are long enough to do that, because Malia is really tall but her nipples are also pretty fucking sensitive and when he does it just right she --

 

"Fuck, fuck fuck, Stiles, faster," she moans, loud and full of impatience. He loves it when she talks, loves her voice, especially when she's desperate and trying not to be. "I need -- oh, oh, oh oh oh." He feels her tightening up around his tongue, making him work for it, and even though he's starting to get tired, he can't stop. He would do this until he passed out if she would keep tugging on his hair and making that sound. The closer she gets, the louder she is, but she won't beg, because she's proud and stubborn and he loves her. He knows when he's hit her highest point when she starts to whine, because Malia doesn't like to make submissive noises if she can help it. She's still a predator at heart, somewhere inside. 

 

"I -- Stiles, I need you," she gasps, which is the closest to begging she'll get. He pushes her a little longer, swirling his tongue so she'll hold on harder, her nails biting hard into his neck. If he doesn't make her come soon she'll bring out the claws, and while he likes the claws sometimes, he's not quite there yet. Instead he slides out of her and wraps his mouth around her clit, sucking until she comes, long and loud. It's four in the afternoon and the neighbors probably hate him, but when he looks up at Malia's face, her mouth fallen open and her hair curtaining the world away, he doesn't fucking care. 

 

He eases her down, stroking her leg and sliding a hand into hers. Her legs wobble and he sits down, pulling her down with him. Malia presses her cheek against his shoulder and Stiles watches as the pot they forgot about starts to boil over. 

 

"Fuck," he says without much fervor, pushing forward until he can shut off the burner. They might get water on the floor, but he doesn't really care -- he'll keep his feet away from it. 

 

"That was better than a hot dog," Malia says, her mouth moving against his neck. He's so hard his dick twitches, just at the thought of her mouth on his skin. 

 

Stiles pushes her hair back, kisses the hollow behind her ear, her jawbone, the mole on her neck. "Did you put condoms in here?" 

 

She smiles into his skin. "I told you we'd fuck in every room. I had to come prepared." Her hand slips down to unbutton his jeans and Stiles lifts, just a little, to press against her fingertips.

 

He laughs as she pushes him down onto the tile, narrowly avoiding hitting his head. Malia's definitely not a forward thinker, but she's great at getting what she wants. 

 

If what she wants is him? He's never going to complain. 

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely had this issue once, only it was with mac and cheese and cake. We wanted mac and cheese, but all we had was cake. I wish it ended in kitchen sex! Unfortunately it just ended in us burning a cake.
> 
> You can get me on [tumblr](http://dallisons.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/derekkira).


End file.
